


i'll never wear clothes again

by demi_god



Series: Sterek Kinkmas 2020 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Best Friend Stackson, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski are the Same Age, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Roommates Derek/Jackson, Sterek Kinkmas 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demi_god/pseuds/demi_god
Summary: "Tell your roommate to fucking wear clothes."
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Sterek Kinkmas 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037634
Comments: 6
Kudos: 253
Collections: Sterek Kinkmas 2020





	i'll never wear clothes again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sterekkinkmas2020 day 2 - Exhibitionism

"Tell your roommate to _fucking wear clothes_ ," Stiles hisses through the phone, shoving clothes after clothes into his duffel. The response he gets to his complaint is a groan from Jackson.

"This is still going on?" His tone suggests that he's exasperated with the deep rumbling from his throat, but Stiles can hear the undertone of amusement. "Just fuck already, for Christ's sake."

Stiles pulls the phone away from his ears and gapes at it for a second. He scoffs and presses it more firmly to his ears, putting the speaker close to his mouth so Jackson can hear his every word and intake of breath. "How _many_ times," Stiles even stops his packing to wring his other hand and place it on his hips. "must I tell you that I'm never going out with Derek Hale?"

"At least a hundred more in the next 24 hours," Jackson deadpans.

It makes Stiles's agitation grow because, honestly, what kind of best friend would not take this harassment seriously? "Jackson, he's flashing me!" the hand on his hip is now in the air brandishing like a fly swatter. "Whenever I'm over at your apartment, and you're not around - hell, even when you _are_ ," he shakes his head. "Derek parades himself naked, putting all that," he gestures wildly in his silent room, having started pacing as well. " _rippling_ , _flexing_ muscles and huge fucking _dick_ on display like a fucking porn star!"

Stiles is not expecting Jackson to be sympathetic to his plight, but he should, at least, show a little concern for Stiles. Instead, what he gets is one of the done/finished/over-and-done-with exhalation that means he's ready to drop the call and leave Stiles to his predicament. Jackson really could show a little care since it's _his_ roommate that's giving Stiles nightmares in both waking and sleeping worlds.

"If you want Derek to stop inviting," there's a sound of a car door shutting close in the background and the jingle of keys. "Then stop looking like an interested guest."

Before Stiles can ask what he means by that, Jackson has started the ignition and clicks the disconnect button. He sputters for a moment and then drops his arm with a resigned huff. As usual, Jackson is a useless friend.

Stiles sighs once more and goes back to packing. This weekend is going to be hellish. He's spending a few days at Jackson's place while the heater and ventilation are getting fixed at his second-rate dorm. 

He pulls the sleeves of his red hoodie down on his hands. He's going to die freezing if he doesn't stay over at Jackson's, and there's nowhere else to go. California in winter months are still frequently sunny with a mild temperature, but this is one of those times not covered by the term. It can get frosty when it deems to be. Jackson's apartment is the logical, financially-wise option. But of course, Stiles has to be prepared for Jackson's roommate. Derek is the _worst_ -a flasher and an overall douche. Of course, he was also Stiles's sexual awakening in high school, but that's beside the point.

His hand hovers at the box of condoms on his nightstand. He hesitates, nibbles on his lower lip, grabs the box anyway and stuffs it inside along with his clothes and toiletries. He zips up the duffel bag, hating himself.

He's not an _interested guest_ , and the condoms are not part of his _preparations_ for Derek. Yeah? Okay.

Right.

He picks up his bag, thinks belatedly about stopping by at the pharmacy to buy lube, and hates himself some more.

~•~

But Stiles hates Derek the _most_.

Also, Jackson, because where the hell is he?

Stiles has been in the apartment for five hours, but the asshole hasn't gone back from the university yet. Stiles knows he should be back by now, but he's not even responding to text messages. It's like he vanished on purpose.

Now, Stiles is stuck sitting stiff as a board on the couch in front of the TV, absently watching a show he doesn't even like. Derek is on the far end of the same couch, cozy, and very relaxed like he's not lounging about in his tight underpants and plastering his bulge and abs all over the place, the fucking exhibitionist.

Stiles pointedly trains his eyes on the screen, seeing motions but not comprehending them. All he can focus on is the loud hammering in his chest and the stirring low in his stomach. He's getting bothered just by Derek's proximity. Jesus, it is embarrassing even for his standard. It was probably forgivable when he was sixteen, having his first sexual fantasies about the unattainable, out-of-his-league lacrosse star Derek Hale. But Stiles had survived high school, his hopeless crush, and Derek toying with his feelings wearing a straight face. He's a big college boy now, who has gotten rid of his spectacles, might still flail a little, but has gotten the attention of a few people. He shouldn't be falling back into the Derek Hale bandwagon; he was _over_ that.

"Are you okay?"

Derek's voice startles him. Stiles jerks back wide-eyed as he turns to Derek's drawn eyebrows. His throat catches, he clears it, and then says in a hopefully even tone, "Yeah."

"You're sweating,"

Stiles _is_ sweating on the forehead; he usually is when he's nervous, tense, or aroused. It isn't all that fulfilling to note that he's all three currently. He averts his eyes back on the screen, "Something must be off with your air-conditioning."

In his peripheral, Stiles can see the smirk on Derek's stupidly gorgeous face. God, Stiles hates people like him. They know they're attractive, confident with their toned bodies, exuding sex-appeal, and they make others twitch in their seats uncomfortably, racing with their heartbeats and gasping for air. Oh, and sweltering at 80°F.

"I'm sure that's not the case,"

Stiles must have imagined the suggestive tone when Derek says it because there's no way, right? He ponders for a second before shifting back to face him. Derek's staring at him, shamelessly, blatantly running his eyes all over his flushing face. Stiles's pulse quickens at the hooded looks.

Derek's eyes meet his again, "If the heat is bothering you," he starts, lips stretching to a small smile. "You should take off your clothes."

He's too stunned inside, but he forces himself to face away once again, feeling his skin beginning to burn. "Not all of us have washboard abs to show off."

"Your body's fine," Derek says offhandedly, but Stiles is tingling from the words.

"How can you know?" He tries to sound indifferent, but the pitchy quality of his voice is not helping his case. "You haven't seen me."

Two beats pass, then, "So, show me."

Stiles can't whirl his head fast enough. He gapes at Derek's serious expression. "Is that-" he sputters, surprised. "Are you-"

Derek cocks his head to the side, "Finally catching up?"

He gapes in disbelief; even his breathing falters. Words escape him for a moment. Then, he exhales, "What are you saying?"

Derek adjusts in his position, moving closer to Stiles. This near, Stiles can see the nervous tick on his jaw, which - _unreal_. Derek Hale doesn't know anxiety. He's the epitome of arrogance and narcissism and unwavering confidence.

Derek's green eyes settle on his dull browns, "I don't strut around naked for just anybody."

Stiles's eyes stray down to Derek's red lips and lock there. He licks his lips, instinctual, "Well, why didn't you ask?"

A bashful expression crosses Derek's features. He ducks his head a little, "I tried. You rejected me."

At this, Stiles rears away, incredulous. " _Rejected_ you?" He puffs a laugh. " _Me_ , turn _you_ down? In what universe, Derek?"

Derek's brow draws together, looking confused. "In senior year," he tells him like it's obvious. "I asked you to go on dates with me," a shadow passes his face, lips curling downward. "You sneered at me every time."

He hears his jaw hitting the floor, remembering all those times, but dismissing them as Derek's asshole antics, "You were _serious_?"

Now, Derek looks offended, even hurt. "I sent you notes, blackmailed Jackson for your number, asked you in the middle of the cafeteria, even went to your house one time - _how_ did you think I wasn't?"

Stiles sags on the couch, shocked and disoriented at the turn of events. When he is composed enough, he lifts his eyes back to Derek's expectant gaze. "So, you decided to," he gestures at Derek's lack of clothing. "Strip for me?"

At this, the smirk returns. "It seems to be working," Derek points out, glancing brazenly at Stiles's middle, where his boner is apparent.

He gets flustered but doesn't deny it. There's no point in pretending he isn't affected. Stiles laughs breathily, "Fuck, you have no idea."

It must be the correct answer because Derek's face breaks out in a cheeky expression. "Then, I reiterate," Derek moves to his feet, and stands before Stiles in all his half-naked glory, boxers tenting. It's the most covered he's been since this whole shenanigans started. Stiles's mouth waters at the view, and he swallows conspicuously, Derek watching the movement of his throat. His green eyes darken when he tips Stiles's chin up to bring their gazes together. " _Show me._ "

***

"Wait, Jackson _knows_?"

"Yes. I blackmailed Jackson again so he'd stay out tonight. Or he can come home and watch, I don't care. Now, will you please get back to what you were doing with your tongue?"

"Traitor,"

" _Stiles_."

"Oh, fine."

"Yeah, that's - _ah_. Yeah. I'll never wear clothes again."

~•~

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Will also be posted at my account on [tumblr](https://voidstilesplease.tumblr.com/)


End file.
